


Catalyst

by lady_krysis (saekhwa)



Category: The Losers (2010)
Genre: Canon Character of Color, Character of Color, Community: ante_up_losers, Dubious Consent, Fuck Or Die, Gift Fic, Interracial Relationship, M/M, POV Character of Color, Pre-Canon, Rare Pairing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-22
Updated: 2011-01-22
Packaged: 2017-10-14 23:06:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/154472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saekhwa/pseuds/lady_krysis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jensen hoped to find some extra ammo, maybe a candy bar, but no such luck.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Catalyst

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JoeLawson](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoeLawson/gifts).



> Fuck or die, aka dubcon like a motherfucker, and a totally improbable situation. Beta by [](http://lunesque.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**lunesque**](http://lunesque.dreamwidth.org/).

Jensen makes another circuit of the cave. Roque isn't counting because he's got better things to focus on like how the hell they're going to get to Clay and the rest of the team before the hostiles over the dune decide to say fuck it and toss a grenade. Or worse. 'Cause there's always fucking worse.

Roque checks his clip again, refusing to keep track of the number of times he's popped it free, counted the bullets, popped it back in and checked his aim. Jensen keeps circling closer until he finally slings off his rifle and drops to the ground next to Roque. They don't talk — they never do when shit gets this far — but eventually, they'll need a plan and one that doesn't rely on Clay, Pooch and Cougar. There's always a possibility that the team could've been neutralized. Every eventuality and scenario has to be consid—

"Jensen." He wants to leave it at that, but— "What the fuck are you doing?"

"Uh." Jensen's hand tightens around Roque's thigh, but he doesn't fucking stop, and as much as Roque tries to think _around_ what's happening, he can't. Jensen is humping his leg. "I don't think I'm at liberty to say, sir."

"You have five seconds."

"Look, I'm trying, man, but it's—" Jensen groans and then shoves his face against Roque's arm, and Roque's sorely tempted to cut him. "Okay, okay." Jensen blows out a breath and then abruptly shoves back. He crab walks to put some more distance between them, his face drawn and sweaty, his hair limp from the heat.

Roque re-assesses the situation. Jensen doesn't look healthy. He looks like he's dehydrated, looks like he's in shock, face too pale, eyes too wide behind his glasses. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

Jensen shakes his head, dropping flat on his back before he shoves up his glasses and jams the heels of his palms against his eyes. "Nothing. I'm good."

Roque digs into his pocket and pulls out an MRE and then he screws off the cap to his canteen. "Bull." He crawls over to Jensen's side to get a closer look, make sure Jensen's not bleeding from some wound that he's trying to hide, when Jensen suddenly jerks up and scoots back, skittish and hurried and wide eyed.

"No, no." He holds up his hand, shaking his head, and that's when Roque notices that he's shaking all over.

"Jensen," Roque says slowly, but Jensen keeps shaking his head and sucking in air like there's not enough of it. "Corporal." Goddamn it. Roque puts the cap back on the canteen — no use in wasting it if this goes any further south — and sets his rifle aside in case Jensen is more delirious than he thinks. He plants both hands on Jensen's shoulder and shoves him back, _hard_ , into the cave wall. " _Jake_."

Jensen blinks, head snapping up, body straightening in attention, but he's still trembling. "Okay," Jensen says. "Okay, maybe I'm not as good as I thought."

Roque doesn't ease up because he's not sure if Jensen's just short of thrashing. He runs through a list of potential problems — scorpions, snakes, camel spider, heat sickness, seizures. "You get bit by something?"

Jensen jerks his head, and Roque interprets that as a no. He unclenches his fingers, one at a time to make sure Jensen's still good, and then shifts back on his haunches so he can reach the canteen, get some water in Jensen while Jensen's still lucid enough. But Jensen's hand snaps out and clamps around Roque's wrist hard enough that Roque has to fight the instinct to pull his knife.

"So." Jensen's eyes go tight around the corners, and he licks his lips. "So I think—" He stops to pull in a ragged breath, and Roque's not waiting for the explanation.

He twists out of Jensen's grip, shoves him back against the wall when Jensen darts forward like he might be making a move for— Fuck if Roque knows, but it's better to keep Jensen against the cave wall. He grabs the canteen, grabs Jensen's chin and forces his head back.

"Drink."

Jensen doesn't argue, just parts his lips and waits. His skin is too hot, several degrees hotter than it should be, and his pulse is slamming hard enough that Roque can feel it right up against Jensen's jaw. Roque only gives Jensen a trickle, pouring the water slow enough that he can drink without choking, but Jensen gulps it down like it's the last he'll get, his Adam's apple bobbing with each hard swallow.

"Swelling?" Roque asks.

Jensen drops his chin when Roque lets him go, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand even though there's no drip, and then finally, he shakes his head in the negative.

Roque screws the cap back on the canteen and sweeps back Jensen's hair. It's a cheap move, but he needs to know how hot Jensen is running. The answer is: too fucking hot. "Finally going crazy on us?"

Jensen breathes out a short, tight laugh and shakes his head again. "We're all a little bit off kilter, aren't we? Going in and being badass special ops motherfuckers as a day job? I think that makes all of us a little special."

Roque ducks his head, just low enough that he can catch Jensen's eyes. "I need you clear-headed, Jensen."

Jensen's mouth twists into a smile, but it looks too hard on his face, too cracked. He nods, but Roque's not accepting that.

"Are you good?"

"I will be," Jensen says and then looks up, meeting Roque's eyes again. "Yeah." He nods again. "I'm good."

Roque accepts it and takes a small sip of the canteen himself. The water is brackish, warm, but it's not supposed to be good in this heat. He caps the canteen, drops next to Jensen, and checks through their supply again. He's not even a third of the way through the routine before Jensen groans, miserable and drawn out.

"I lied. I'm not good. I'm so not good. I don't know what I opened back there, but I am horny as _fuck_ , and I really think that's what we should be doing. Fucking—"

"What the hell did you open? Back _where_?" Roque cuts in.

"Recon," Jensen says, dropping his head and fisting both hands tight in his hair. "When we split to make sure the area was secure. I was hoping it was a secret stash of grenades or missiles. Maybe a rocket launcher. At least some more _rifles_ , but there was nothing good in there, just dust and some—This _thing_ —Look, Roque, the important thing is I really, really need you to fuck me." Jensen looks up at Roque and licks his lips; it's not lewd, just dry lips, maybe dehydration, maybe heat sickness.

Roque stares back. "And how did you come to that logical conclusion?"

Jensen lifts his eyes, the corner of his mouth twitching into a smile. "Because nothing else is working?"

Roque shakes his head and turns, planting a hand on the ground to get to his feet and move away. "I'll give you five—"

Jensen grabs his arm with both hands and shoves his face against the back of Roque's shoulder. "I've _tried_ , man." A shudder works through Jensen and ends in a muffled groan. " _Please_."

Roque digs his thumb under Jensen's fingers and starts peeling them off of his arm. "We're not fucking. I'll give you five minutes," he says. "Take care of it."

"I've _tried_." Jensen's hand comes loose but only to wrap tight around Roque's thigh. They're too close, Jensen's face shoved up where Roque can see how wide and dark his pupils are. Jensen's forehead is wet with sweat, the beads of it slithering down his cheeks. "My dick's chafing from trying so fucking hard. I just—I'm not asking for much here. A quickie?"

" _No_."

Jensen's face crumples, and he crawls onto his knees, face smashed against Roque's thigh.

"Take care of it, Jensen. It'll wear off. We'll get out of here."

"I've been telling myself that for the last hour. It's not getting better, Roque."

Jensen's creeping closer, his knees tracking in the dirt until he's close enough to shimmy against Roque's leg.

"I just—" Jensen groans and snaps his hips forward again. His shoulders shake when he rubs the bulge of his cock against Roque, twisting in a full-on fucking rut. "I just need a little help. A _little_ and—" Jensen's fingers hook into Roque's belt, and Roque stands there, sorely fucking tempted to slam the butt of his rifle into Jensen's temple. Jensen is making these helpless sounds, each moan breathless, and he looks _miserable_ , his voice a soft murmur of, "Please, please, please."

Plain and simple: it's fucked up. Roque flicks a look up and drops his hand into Jensen's hair. He smoothes back the sweaty strands and lets Jensen go at it, counting until he realizes that he's counting each thrust of Jensen's hips.

"I'll still respect you in the morning," Jensen suddenly says, the statement followed by a nervous burst of laughter that cracks near the end.

"Hurry the fuck up," Roque growls, because they need to get the fuck out of here, and they can't do that if Jensen is delirious.

"Yeah, yeah. Wine and dine late—" Another groan echoes off the walls and then a frustrated burst of sound shortly follows. "I know—I know this is really fucked up and _weird_ , but Roque, I really need you to help me out, man. Really, really. I will _owe you_. For. I don't know. For life. So will you please just"—Jensen jerks on Roque's BDUs—"get your ass down here and _give me a fucking handjob_." Jensen's eyes are bright behind his glasses. "Pretty please. With sprinkles."

"You've lost it," Roque mumbles but drops to his knees, setting his rifle aside.

"Yeah, but don't put that in the debriefing."

"Off the record."

Jensen quirks a grin, his eyes fluttering. "Your dirty little secret."

It takes Roque a minute to realize that Jensen is batting his fucking eyelashes. Roque should cuff the bastard, but. "If this doesn't work—"

Jensen's smile falls straight off his face. "I don't want to think about it." He shrugs. "I might die." The possibility of it flickers across Jensen's face like a slow reveal, and Roque's pretty sure Jensen's thinking about his sister and niece and what'll happen to them. He's never had to wonder about what if for anyone but himself. It's a sobering thought and then Jensen is unbuttoning his BDUs and shoving a hand down his briefs. Roque looks away, to the left, narrowing his eyes down the passage because at the end of it, there's a shit ton of trouble that they still have to deal with. "Just for the record, everyone lied. This isn't a good way to go. I'm putting it up there with drowning as shit-terrible ways of dying."

Roque flicks a glance at Jensen. "Noted."

Jensen nods. "Good."

They sit there, both of them on their knees, the dark, swollen head of Jensen's cock just on the outskirts of Roque's periphery, and stare at each other. Jensen snaps first.

He grabs Roque's hand with a frustrated, "Okay. You put your hand on my dick. That's how a handjob works." He falters on the last word and slumps forward, his free hand landing on Roque's shoulder, fingers digging into the joint. "Yeah, yeah. This is—" Jensen moves Roque's hand, dragging it down to the head of his cock and forcing Roque to squeeze. "This is gonna work."

They're doing this dry. It's gotta hurt, but Jensen keeps pumping his hips, fucking into Roque's fist, moving Roque's hand in short, tight strokes and then long, slow drags. Roque's not thinking about it. Or thinking about the warm pant of Jensen's breath against his neck when Jensen buries his face in the crook of his shoulder with choked mewls of sound. This goes beyond personal. This had better fucking work.

Jensen's entire body stiffens, Roque's skin cooling from the quick inhale that Jensen takes, and then Jensen's shuddering all over and exhaling a moan. Roque keeps very fucking calm, and Jensen keeps going, using Roque's slick fingers to ease the slide and drag. Then his body goes limp, and Roque exhales one slow breath, counting each hard beat of his heart.

"You good?" he asks.

"Yeah." Jensen shivers when Roque starts to draw his hand away. "God, yeah." Jensen's fingers spasm around his, and he lifts his head with a doped-out smile. "Thanks, man. I owe you."

"You have no fucking idea."

Jensen laughs, the color rising high in his cheeks. "I dunno." His thumb swipes over Roque's palm, drawing a tight circle against Roque's skin. "I have a few."


End file.
